


Krampusnacht

by GingerKI



Series: Summers' Winters [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22054126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerKI/pseuds/GingerKI
Summary: "I’ve had my fat fill of real demons trying to kill me, but potentially hot young Austrian dudes dressed like demons - just point me in the right direction!"
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Series: Summers' Winters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130081
Comments: 2
Kudos: 62





	1. Mothers and Sons

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. In short, I do not own anything Joss would want and he owns a lot of stuff I do. I'm doing this solely to amuse myself and, maybe on a good day, entertain others. I leave that to them to decide.
> 
> Not beta'd so any errors, either in judgment or grammar, are mine and mine alone.

**Salzburg, Austria**

**Early December**

“What’s with Krampus, anyway?” Buffy asked then took a sip of her coffee and added, “It’s a good thing you said something. I was about to beat the crap out of it… uh… him until I realized it was just a dude in costume. A young, easy-on-the-eyes dude, turns out, so it would have been a shame to damage him.”

“The costumes are quite authentically demonic,” Giles concurred then explained,

”As far we know, Krampus has pre-Christian origins but has been incorporated into newer traditions. Punisher of naughty and ungrateful children, Krampus is the anti-St. Nicholas, so to speak, which is why ‘Krampusnacht’ or ‘Krampus Night’ is closely associated with the Feast of St. Nicholas. The Catholic Church suppressed Krampus but, like so many local cultural traditions of pagan origin, it persisted and is now flourishing again in the Alpine villages and towns nearby. There are several ‘Krampuslaufs’ or ‘Krampus runs’ this week. A colleague mentioned that one of the most renowned is tomorrow evening, not far from here in a town called Bad Goisern. It has become quite a spectacle, drawing both participants and spectators from surrounding villages and towns.”

“Krampus… run?”

“A parade, if you will, where St. Nicholas and angels hand out treats and a multitude of Krampuses and related demons swat parade-goers with items ranging from horsehair whips to birch switches. But it’s all in good fun, I’m told, and growing ever more popular, particularly with young people.”

“Then Bad Geezer it is. I’m going,” Buffy asserted.

“Bad Goisern but what about our work here? The conference?”

“It’s one night and one long, boring dinner. I’m no good with the small talk anyway. Besides, I’ve had my fat fill of real demons trying to kill me, but potentially hot young Austrian dudes dressed like demons - just point me in the right direction! I travel all the time these days but how often do I get to soak up a little local color? Don’t you think I’ve _earned_ a little fun?” She’d been saving that card for a while and figured now was as good a time as any to play it.

Giles removed and commenced cleaning his glasses then sighed and advised, “Very well. I know your driving skills are vastly improved but do be careful on the mountain roads and do not hesitate to put up somewhere for the night if the weather turns. And, if it’s not too much to ask, kindly refrain from causing an international incident.”

“It’s been over six months since Tokyo, Giles. I really think you need to let it go.”

* * * *

**Bad Goisern, Austria**

**Next Day**

_Glühwein_

“Yes, please!” Buffy muttered under her breath when she spotted the sign indicating a stall selling mulled wine.

She made her way through the throngs of good-natured revelers to place her order, scoring another commemorative mug to add to her growing collection from European Christmas markets. Evenings like this reminded her of just how much everything had changed with the destruction of Sunnydale. Here she was, seeing the world, able to enjoy an evening off-duty. Doing something fun, spur of the moment, without worrying that someone might die as a result her of her taking her eyes off the ball. She took distinct satisfaction in watching the people around her celebrate fake demons because there was now a global network of slayers keeping the real thing in check. Give or take an ensouled vampire or two, both of whom seemed content to confine their manly deeds of derring-do to themselves. Half a world away.

The old hurt had largely faded by the time Sunnydale collapsed into a giant crater but the more recent one still smarted. For someone who’d stubbornly professed his love and devotion, even when it had been the last thing she wanted to hear and refused to accept or even believe, he had apparently found fulfillment working side-by-side with someone he once claimed to despise. He was really staying away this time, seemingly for good. Not that she could blame him. His feelings for her had cost him dearly over the years, culminating in what they had both believed in the moment to be his ultimate sacrifice. Maybe that act had finally burned away the love that had been the cause of so much physical and even more emotional pain. Resurrected and finally free. Of her.

No, she really couldn’t blame him. If anyone was to blame it was herself, leaving it too late to acknowledge that he mattered to her, that he was more than a means to an end. How much more she had only realized after he was gone, when the euphoria of saving the world (again) had worn off and the grief had settled in. Grief that had evolved into hurt when she learned he was back. Secondhand.

Taking a sip of her glühwein, Buffy shrugged mentally. What he was doing in L.A. was none of her business anymore if he didn’t want it to be. He’d earned at least that much. Those who change the world for the better should get to dictate how they want to live in it. If she got to have a cushy Council job in Europe to be near her sister while Dawn completed a world-class education, then he ought to be able to do the hero routine in L.A. with Angel. Although, hard as she tried, she’d never quite been able to picture it.

Cheers erupting from the crowd shook her from her thoughts and Buffy made her way to the parade barrier. First up was the children’s parade and, my God, it was cute. The kids were so proudly demonic with one little Krampus stopping to growl at her. She just wanted to squeeze him or her (she couldn’t tell) but feigned horror instead which puffed the kid up adorably. A few adult Krampuses accompanied the children and she concluded that Alpine parents clearly adopted a free-range approach when one of the adults handed a child who couldn’t be any older than eight a lit traffic flare.

_Ok… wow._

She smiled into her mug of glühwein and took another sip as the kids gave way to adults and, Giles wasn’t kidding, spectacle was the word for it. The costumes were amazing, the floats elaborate, dramatic and, well, funny. From one such float jumped a large Krampus who charged in her general direction and…

_Ok… ow._

_._

File under _useful info_ , a birch switch to the calf stings like a bitch even through denim. The group of teenage girls to the left of her got the worst of it, though, and giggled while rubbing their sore legs.

“You guys are tough,” Buffy observed wryly.

“You’re American?” one of the girls responded.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Oh my God, I’ve always wanted to visit America. Are you from New York City? I would love to see New York City.”

“California, originally, although I live in London now.”

“California? I want to go there too! It looks like paradise.”

Buffy could barely stifle a smirk as she replied, “I’m sure you’ll get there someday,” then moved away from the barrier as she saw more Krampuses approaching. She found a spot where most of the adults were standing and she could just soak it all in without becoming collateral damage again. She was pretty sure she’d find a mark later when she undressed. After a decade of getting her ass kicked on the regular as part of her job, she didn’t see the amusement in pain, even if it was minor and all in fun. Well, except for…

_Don’t go there, Buffy. That was a long time ago and SO over. You should know. You’re the one who ended it because everything had gone to shit. And then everything had gone even more to shit._

What was it with her lately and the invading sex memories? Why relive what was arguably the worst year of her life? Ok, so there had been a few years in the running for that title but that was definitely the year when _she_ had been the worst. What they had been then was _wrong_ and neither of them had been a pure victim or perpetrator. But they had fixed it, right? That last year in Sunnydale they had become what they had never been before, true allies. Friends even. They had been… close.

_Except…_

The memories that seemed to invade these days were the moments of mind-blowing pleasure. They may not have been emotionally intimate – not for his lack of trying but because she would not allow it - but, damn, their bodies never seemed to get that memo. They were just _attuned_ physically and had always been. The fought well and they… everything well. Her shoulders slumping, Buffy sighed.

_No point in denying it, you miss him._

She could picture the triumphant (and irritatingly sexy) grin that such an admission by her would have once put on his face. The fact that it was now irrelevant stung way worse than the birch switch. She didn’t have to dwell on it long, however, before the voice of an anxious woman startled her back into the present. Behind her a frantic conversation was underway and, whatever the topic, it didn’t sound good. Then something made her look down the alley to her right in time to spot another Krampus, which met her eyes before slipping into the darkness. Only this one seemed different than all the others. Maybe it was his scowl, which seemed a lot less like a mask and a lot more like a genuine facial expression.

_You have GOT to be kidding me._

The fun was over.

* * * *

“Hey, you, tall, dark and ugly!”

Buffy called out when she had tracked the demon to the tree line at the edge of town leading into dense forest. He had a large sack slung over his shoulder, which was squirming. She had a pretty good idea what was inside. Krampus growled at her in response and, oh yeah, this was no human in costume. Not even a totally sick human of the child-abducting variety.

“Huh, the real deal. Guess I should be honored before I, ya know, kick your ass.”

The sack hit the snow-covered ground where it continued to squirm then it was on. She had no idea what a Krampus’ weakness was because until fifteen minutes ago she had no idea that Krampus was real. She was knocked to the ground and felt inside her pocket, pulling out her commemorative mug and checking it for damage before setting it aside and jumping to her feet.

“You break my commemorative mug, you die. Harder,” she warned before re-engaging.

Buffy was just getting the upper hand when she felt a familiar tingle at the back of her neck.

_Oh, perfect, just what I need._

Killing this demon was now an ASAP proposition because there was another, a vampire, nearby and a bagful of snacks prepackaged like a Lunchable for the undead just a few feet away. One swift kick to the solar plexus - assuming Krampus had a solar plexus - and he was down. If she was lucky, he’d have a windpipe to crush and…

“Slayer?”

She froze for an instant then spun around, blinking in disbelief at the figure emerging from the trees until a sharp kick to her left kidney sent her tumbling forward.

“Kicking a lady in the back? Not very sporting.”

While she couldn’t call to mind a specific incident, she was pretty sure that _he_ had kicked her in the back more than once. Ignoring the pain, she flipped onto her back and connected with Krampus’ jaw as he was making for her again then called out,

“The sack! Let the kids out and get them away from here!”

“Right!” she heard him reply as her booted heel connected again.

She was up on her feet again when she heard him speak in clipped German followed by the sound of sniffling and hiccupping then small feet padding swiftly away. She was about to suggest that she could use a little help with Krampus when there was a sudden whoosh, kicking up snow in a column that rose up to the tops of the pines at the edge of the forest.

_Well, that can’t be good._

A shape, distinctly female and tall, very tall, began to emerge in the whirlwind.

_Definitely. Not. Good._

Particularly since Krampus had stopped fighting and dropped to his knees to assume a position of supplication. While Buffy appreciated the end of the kicks, punches and attempts to skewer her with his horns, she had to wonder what a Krampus would fear. She soon had her answer because the whirlwind ceased and there stood a female giant, one half of her body that of a beautiful woman and the other half that of a rotting corpse.

_Oh boy._

“What is this?” the giant asked in lilting, accented English. Scandinavian?

“ _This_ is a slayer not letting a monster drag away and eat little villagers.”

“ _The_ Slayer,” _he_ piped in unnecessarily and Buffy frowned, in no mood for his flattery.

“I was not addressing you. What is this, Jakob?”

_Jakob?_

The Krampus shrugged but did not look up at the giant addressing him.

“Look at me when I speak to you, Jakob.”

“But mother!” Spoken in perfect, unaccented American English. He sounded like he could have grown up next door to Buffy.

_Mother?_

In reply to Buffy’s upraised eyebrows the giant explained, “He watches a lot of American television.”

“Love _Friends,”_ the Krampus-apparently-named-Jakob added.

“Seriously?!? What in the actual is going on here?!?”

“I think I know,” _he_ declared. “Hel, I presume?”

“You are correct. I am Hel, Norse Goddess of the Underworld. And you are, what, exactly?”

“A vampire.”

“Indeed, I smell the death on you, but I also detect…”

“A soul, yeah.”

“Neither fish nor fowl, you must be a disappointment to creatures of both light and dark.”

“Usually,” he replied with a snort.

Rolling her eyes, Buffy interjected, “Now that we’ve gotten past the polite introductions, what the if you’ll pardon the pun _hell_ is going on here?”

“What is going on is that one of my children is being disobedient.”

“Mother, I am just trying to honor the old ways.”

“Times have changed. The world has changed. The old ways are no longer acceptable.”

“But Mother, the little humans I took were assholes!”

“Be that as it may, the adult humans who bore them, woefully incompetent as they may be at raising them, _will_ take issue with your dragging them away. Why would you wish to make trouble for you and your siblings, Jakob? You are revered once more. Beloved. Celebrated this time every year. Free to live peacefully in the forests. Would you prefer to be hunted by this freakishly-strong woman and her ensouled-vampire-abomination consort?”

“Hey!... He’s not!” the aforementioned pair protested in unison.

“I must be mistaken in my assessment of the situation,” Hel offered in a tone that conveyed she most definitely was not then continued addressing her son,

“Now, off with you Jakob but before you go, will the family be seeing you for the Winter Solstice?”

“Yes, Mother,” he grumbled then rose to his feet and stalked off into the forest.

“Children… it never ends,” Hel stated with a sigh.

“I wouldn’t know,” Buffy responded, crossing her arms at her chest.

“Maybe someday… and now I will take my leave of you. You have my word that I will not permit my son to drag away even the most ungrateful and obnoxious human child. Jakob and I have been through this before and, I am afraid, will again. I do not know where I went wrong with him. With her 20-thousandth or so a mother loses track sometimes. None of us can do it all.

Hej då!” she tacked on then disappeared with the same windy, snowy flourish with which she had appeared.

“Nice enough folks when you get to know ‘em,” Spike observed with a shrug. Buffy blinked her reply, shaking her head in stupefaction.

“Bit of a weird night but all’s well that ends well,” he added, rocking back on his heels with his hands in his pockets as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

That was it. She’d had enough. She was tired, wet, cold and feeling more than a little humiliated, although exactly why she couldn’t put her finger on. She was also facing the hour-plus-long drive back to Salzburg. All of which was making this fun little excursion seem in retrospect like the worst idea ever.

“Nice seeing you, Spike. Thanks for the sacrifice. Congrats on the resurrection. Say hi to Angel for me. Bye.” On that she turned and stalked away from him towards the center of town.

“Slayer!” he called after her. She kept walking, her head down as she tried desperately to hang onto her dignity.

“Buffy!” he called again, closer this time. He was following her. Well, he could follow her all the way back to where her car was parked because she had no intention of stopping until she got there.

“Will you hold on a minute!” he growled, and she felt his hand on her shoulder.

Wrong move. In a flash she had spun on him and before he knew what hit him had that hand and the arm it was attached to pinned against his back.

“Something you want to say to me?” she bit out through gritted teeth.

“Forgot your mug,” he replied with a grunt. “It’s in the left pocket of my duster.”

“My… mu…” she muttered then, overcome by the absurdity of, well everything, loosened her hold on him and sank to the ground as she dissolved into a fit of hysterical laughter.

It just kept coming as tears streamed down her face and he was looming over her looking concerned and that just made her laugh harder and harder still when he inquired cautiously, “You okay, pet?”

_Pet?!?_

She snorted and held her stomach because after everything they’d been through he hadn’t come to her or even called or emailed to say that he was back and he had just chased her halfway down a deserted road in a town in the middle of nowhere in Austria to give her back the commemorative mug she’d forgotten about while fighting the son of a, wait for it, Norse Hell-goddess. When she had composed herself to the point of speaking, she managed to choke out, “You win!” before laughter overtook her again.

“I… win? What do I win, Buffy?”

His voice was so soft yet earnest and how could eyes so blue radiate so much warmth that she was expecting the snow around her to melt into a giant puddle that would swallow her whole? Could a person actually die from laughing? Hadn’t she read about that somewhere? Or maybe it was a _Monty Python_ sketch she’d watched with Xander. The only reply she could muster was to throw up her arms in defeat because hell if she knew.

Spike was crouching in front of her now and grasped her firmly by her upper arms. This seemed to quell the hysterics and she was able to finally compose herself.

“Slayer, you’re soaked to the skin and freezing. Let me see you to wherever you’re staying.”

“That would be a long walk, Spike, even for you. I drove up from Salzburg for the evening.”

“You… drove?”

“I’ve gotten better at driving. I’ve gotten better at a lot of things.”

“Faster too. Got the drop on me right quick.”

“I spend a lot of time in the training room these days, training slayers. I’m in the best shape of my life.”

Looking up he remarked, “Won’t stay that way by plunging off the side of a mountain. It’s starting to snow.”

Buffy looked up and registered the sensation of fat flakes landing on her face then commented wanly, “Of course it is.”

Rising to his feet Spike held out his hand to help her up. She couldn’t think of any logical reason not to take it, so she did.

**TBC**


	2. Sekt and Candy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the chapter title. Just couldn't resist.

The walk was tensely silent. To say that she wasn’t feeling chatty was the understatement of the decade and his self-preservation instincts were obviously keeping him quiet too. She stared straight ahead but could feel him occasionally eyeing her warily, as if she were a volatile explosive device that could go off at any moment. Damn it was cold and by the time they reached the cottage her teeth were chattering. In keeping with the evening’s darkly comic theme, it was so cute and cozy that she was half expecting an elf to come skipping out of the front door. When he opened the door and gestured for her to enter, Buffy rolled her eyes and broke the silence.

“I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what the hell are you doing in Austria… and living in Papa Smurf’s house?”

His lips twitching and his eyes conveying something mighty confusing given his total silence and complete absence since un-dusting, Spike replied, “Come inside before you go hypothermic and I’ll tell you.”

She narrowed her eyes but relented because she could feel her wet jeans freezing to her skin. He closed the door behind them then set about lighting several candles because he still had a taste for the Gothic, apparently. Buffy stood dumbly by the door, shivering, as she watched him move around the room then squat in front of the fireplace to build a fire.

“Sorry, there isn’t much in the way of furniture. But there’s indoor plumbing,” he gestured in the direction of a door at the far side of the room. “And a workable kitchenette,” he added nodding towards the small adjoining kitchen area.

“Just let me get this going and we’ll soon be snug as a bug in here,” he continued, likely to fill the silence since she’d gone mute again, partly because she suddenly felt so awkward that she was afraid to open her mouth but also because she was using most of her energy to shiver.

He had the fire going in a snap, stood up and faced her, frowning. He walked to the corner of the room and pulled several blankets off a built-in shelf, dropping all but one on the rug in front of the fire as he approached her. Offering the blanket to her he advised,

“Here, take this into the loo and change. We can put your wet things out here to dry by the fire. This will keep you warm and… covered.”

She blinked at him but did not move, again on the verge of emotions bubbling up only this time she feared it would be sobs not giggles. What was _wrong_ with her?!?!

“Buffy, your lips are blue. You can kip in front of the fire until morning then be on your way. I’ll stay up and keep the fire tended so you stay warm and your things dry.”

Nope, still nothing. After all these years had she finally… _snapped_?

“Here,” he soothed. “Let’s get your jacket, hat and gloves off.”

He removed her outerwear then knelt in front of her and set aside the blanket before placing her hands on his shoulders for balance then placed her right foot on his left knee to unlace and remove her boot. After repeating the process with her left foot, he set it down. He then picked up the blanket, stood, took her gently by the arm, led her to the bathroom, handed her the blanket, opened the door, switched on the light, propelled her inside, and closed the door behind her. She leaned back against it, closed her eyes and took a fortifying breath.

_Get a grip, Buffy._

Because this was just embarrassing, and she was pretty sure that he’d had enough of catatonic Buffy after her resurrection. She was pretty sure that _everyone_ had. Hell, even _she_ had which is why she had resorted to desperate measures. He, of course, being the most desperate of those measures. Ugh, she was getting nowhere, her mind spinning in circles. She shook off that pointless train of thought and shed her wet, half-frozen jeans, her eyes fluttering in relief as she kicked them off. Her clammy legs were covered in gooseflesh but she had other concerns, namely her cute but itchy wool turtleneck sweater. She’d never be able to sleep in it. Looking around the room her eyes fell to an open duffel in the corner, dark fabric poking out, and she raised her eyebrows.

Could she? No. She could not. That would be even less comfortable than the itchy sweater albeit for different reasons. Even though she knew the fabric would be baby soft. But she’d never… not even when he’d offered with that devastatingly hopeful look in his eyes back then because it was too much… too much like _couple_ behavior. And it would have pleased him. Nope, not an option. It was presumptuous. She had no right to just… her arms seemed to move of their own accord as she pulled the sweater up and over her head.

She was pulling on a black t-shirt, every bit as soft as she knew it would be and sliding across her skin like a caress, when she heard a knock on the front door. Standing cautiously at the bathroom door she listened as Spike answered it. A soft conversation ensued signaling to her that everything was okay, so she set about wrapping herself in the fleece blanket he’d given her and, omigodyes, it was soft. It felt heaven against her chilled skin. And, of course, Spike would have the softest, comfiest blankets in the world. She heard the front door close and took that as her cue to gather up her clothing and emerge. The idea of warming herself by that fire was _very_ appealing.

Although staying the bathroom all night could have worked too, Buffy concluded when she met his eyes and approximately 10,000 butterflies took flight at once in her stomach. She was really here. With Spike. Alone. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime. He was the first to look away, his eyes drifting to the large basket at his feet.

“Word travels fast in a town this size,” he stated. “Police chief dropped this by on behalf of the citizenry as a thank you for earlier, said they’d hoped the woman the sprogs had seen tonight was my guest.”

Relieved by having a safe topic to discuss she padded over to the fire, stretched her sodden jeans to one side of it with one hand while using the other to keep her blanket-dress in place and inquired, “What’s in there? Anything good?”

“Had anything to eat or drink in this country, Slayer? ‘Course it’s good. Get yourself settled and we’ll go through it together since it’s intended for both of us.”

She folded her top the best she could with one hand, leaving it next to her jeans, then shimmied into the bedroll he’d fashioned for her and sighed contentedly. Sitting up with her hands resting demurely in her lap she blinked up at him expectantly. There it was again, that look she’d long wondered if she’d ever see in anyone’s eyes again when they looked at her, let alone his. He was the first to look away again and lifted the basket.

“Heavy… good sign,” he offered as he set it down beside her then took a seat on the other side of it and flipped it open.

“A bottle… no better, two bottles of Sekt. Well-chilled,” he catalogued as he lifted them out of the basket. Cheese. Sausages. Bread. Ooh, a Linzer Torte. I’ll bet it’s from the bake shop near the market. Lovely woman. Still water, sparkling water, beer, chocolates.”

“What’s in those two jars?”

“A little something from the butchers for me, I reckon.”

To her look of surprise, he responded, “Mountain people haven’t survived for millennia by being gullible or easily shaken. They had my number pretty quickly.”

“And they just welcomed a vampire into the community.”

“Did them a solid when I first got here, read them in on Spike version 2.0. That’s how I got this place. Those who make a life on the edge of the dark forest learn pretty quickly which monsters are worth fighting and which aren’t.”

“Jeez, wish I grew up here. Would’ve made my job _way_ easier. So, Spike, what _are_ you doing here?”

“Truth?”

“Wouldn’t bother to ask if I wanted anything but.”

“Wanted to spend the holidays in the Old World. Missed it.”

“That’s it? You’re on vacation?”

“Was feeling a bit in the way in L.A.”

“In the way?”

“Peaches is trying to sort a few things out. Thought he could use the space.”

“Things?” she probed.

“Ya know, this and that."

“This and that? Could you please be a just a teensy bit more vague? I don’t think I’m quite confused enough.”

His eyes glued to the rug on which they were both seated he said, “Look, it’s not my place to… I don’t want you to think that I’m…”

“What?”

“There’s a woman, alright? Well, most of the time she’s a woman, except when the moon’s full.”

_Oh. My. God. Seriously?_

Buffy started to laugh.

“Oh no, not _this_ again,” Spike muttered.

“No, I’m fine,” she assured. “I’ve been filled in on developments in my ex’s life since, you know…”

_I watched you burn up to close the Hellmouth and save the world._

“And, among other things, I know that he had a son with Darla which who knew that was even possible, particularly since last I knew she was in a vacuum cleaner bag. I also know that he and Cordelia had developed feelings for each other before she…”

_Became one more in a long, sad list of casualties._

“And I’m okay with it. Which, honestly, was as big a shock to me as anyone. Was a time when the thought of him and Cordelia together was literally my worst nightmare except for, maybe, him and Faith but now… now I’m just sorry that they never got a real chance. I think that maybe they brought out the best in each other. Lord knows we did not. But mostly I’m really, really sorry that she’s gone but I’m glad to hear that he’s met someone.”

“He’s known her for a while, put it on the back burner for the last apocalypse and when we survived, which was a surprise to us both to be honest, there she was. Back with a determined look in her eye. Doesn’t matter how tiresome the brooding or lame the musical taste, those broad shoulders and puppy dog eyes never fail to attract quality birds. Bloody unfair it is.”

She shot him a look, he rolled his eyes and continued, “Decided to deprive him of the excuse of whatever trouble we might get into and alight for the continent. Always did love a good Christmas Market.”

“I’m sure you did. Lots of tipsy, tasty snacks.” He shrugged then continued,

“And Krampusnacht, well that’s just bloody brilliant. You saw the parade, yeah?”

“Part of it.”

“Now _that’s_ punk rock.”

“If you say so.”

“Okay, your turn.”

“To?”

“Tell me what brings a California girl to the Austrian Alps.”

“A conference in Salzburg. With Giles.”

“Sounds boring.”

“It is, which is why I had the brilliant idea of escaping a mind-numbing dinner to come here for the evening. You planning to open that bottle or what? I’m kind of hungry too.”

“This bottle? Sekt is sparkling wine, pet.”

“I know what it is. I’ve been drinking it since I got here.”

“Have you now?”

“My drinking skills have improved too, Spike.”

“Guess we’ll see about that, Slayer.”

* * * *

Buffy flopped onto her back and stretched, sighing contentedly. Adding another log to the fire, Spike turned to her, smiled and asked, “You okay? Ready to sleep?”

“Nah, just relaxed… and full.” Her eyes slipped closed.

“You should probably get some kip. Drive will be no fun in the morning if you’re tired.”

“Don’t want to.”

“You… you warm enough, Buffy?”

She blinked her eyes open and realized that her leg had slipped out from under the blanket. To mid-thigh.

Propping herself up on her elbows she replied, “Yup,” then leaned over to grab the second bottle of Sekt they’d opened and take a swig.

“I… I still think you ought to rest. I’ll grab a book and watch the fire.”

“Were you mad at me?” she blurted. She wasn’t drunk, exactly. In fact, she figured she’d had just enough vino to face the veritas.

“Come again?”

“When you came back… when… when the amulet spit you out in Angel’s office. Were you mad at me or something?”

“What? No, whatever gave you that daft idea?’’ 

Sitting fully upright she responded, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I had to hear that you were back from Giles and then it was only after you almost _died again_ and that, before tonight, the last time I actually _saw and spoke to_ you, you were literally dying before my eyes and now you’re all ‘How ya been?’ as if the last time we saw one another was over brunch.”

“Buffy…”

“Hey, I get it. You didn’t believe me and, you know what, I’m not even sure that _I_ believed me. Not until after when there was nothing I could do to prove it because you were gone. But I _did_ mean it, Spike, and I _do_ mean it and I’m not saying it because I want anything from you or think I deserve anything from you but because I think that _you_ deserve to know. Even if you’re past caring.”

Buffy realized that at some point she had risen to her feet and was standing in the middle of Spike’s cottage. In Spike’s t-shirt. And very little else. And she didn’t give a _fuck_ because this was important. She could finally have the answer to the nagging question that had been plaguing her mind ever since she had found out he was back and, maybe, move the fuck on with her life. And _fuck modesty_ anyway. It’s not like he’d ever troubled himself to spare her (or anyone else for that matter) his bare torso, even after he came back with his soul.

Hands on his hips, Spike shook his head, a sardonic smile gracing his lips.

“Well?” she demanded. “Aren’t you going to _say something?!?”_

He began to pace and mutter, “Past…” repeatedly, occasionally emitting a bitter chuckle, then he stopped, affixed her gaze and growled,

“Bloody infernal woman!”

He began to pace again, panther-like, his body coiled in tension and Buffy was starting to wonder if pissing off an unchipped-if-ensouled Spike, now pacing between her and the only exit, was perhaps the stupidest idea in a day chock full of stupid.

“Spike… I… I’m…”

He turned to her again and, pointing, declared, “No, _you_ do not get to talk anymore. It’s _your_ turn to listen.”

“Okay…”

“Let _me_ tell _you_ about _my_ evening. I’m minding my own business, seeing if there’s anything afoot in the forest after catching a bit of the parade and who do I stumble upon but _you_ , who could be anywhere in the world but you’re here in this tiny speck on the map, gloriously kicking arse while wearing an adorable cap like the one you were wearing that night years ago when we made our truce only _this one_ has a ridiculous pom-pom on it and for a minute I’m totally paralyzed by how sodding cute the bloody _Angel of Death_ is as she’s kicking demon arse. See, I used to be a demon like him. The kind that played by my own rules, made a heap of trouble and never looked back, but then you turned me inside out and _now_ I’m the kind of demon who forgets how to throw a bloody punch because looking at you is like having my dead, unbeating heart excised from my chest with a melon-baller. And then the demon’s mum shows up and it gets a bit weird, but it all turns out alright. Then you storm off and I see you’ve left your mug and I remember the collection of souvenir mugs Joyce kept in the cupboard next to the sink. Would serve me cocoa in a different one each time and tell me the story behind it and all those mugs are gone now, and I figured you were making a new collection. Then you were frog marching me then going sack of hammers and staying in bleeding _Salzburg_ and I couldn’t let you get back on the road and then we’re having a picnic in my house and laughing and drinking sparkling-bloody-wine and you’re bloody well wearing my shirt and I’m never going to get your smell out if it now but I’ll never get rid of it or even wash it because it smells like you and I’d finally figured out how to live with loving you without wanting you so long as I didn’t have to see you or smell you or hear you say something that makes me laugh and, sod it all, Buffy, what am I supposed to do now?”

She was trembling, her eyes welling with tears. Until Spike mentioned it, she hadn’t even been conscious of why she’d started collecting mugs. It wasn’t as though she was home very often to use one, let alone the dozen or so she’d already acquired. But he knew her, knew her history, was the one who’d stuck around for it, for her, coming back even after they’d crawled through hell together that horrible year. To be her champion. To literally burn for her. As she watched him fidget and avoid looking at her, she fully embraced her dumbest idea yet with a serene smile.

“Can I say something now?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” he uttered.

“You can have your shirt back.”

It landed at his feet. His head snapped up, his eyes going comically, adorably wide.

“Don’t _make me_ come over there,” she warned with a wicked gleam in her eye.

**TBC**


	3. Safe and Warm

_Ok… he’s not moving._

She hadn’t known _exactly_ how he’d react but doing _absolutely nothing_ wasn’t among options she’d considered. Buffy’s confidence in her present course of action waned as Spike remained frozen to the spot, gaping at her in her red lace bra and panties (she’d been in a festive mood when she had gotten dressed). It was her turn to fidget, shifting her weight from foot to foot then scratching her right calf with the toes of her left foot.

_Oh my God, this is getting ridiculous!_

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“Is something wrong?”

“Yeah… I mean no, not with you… you… you’re a vision. Bloody gorgeous, you are.”

“Then why won’t you come over here?”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Sodding legs won’t work.”

“They are holding your body up so they must be working.”

“You’d think, but no. Just figures, don’t it? Dream of something every sodding day since that amulet spit me out. Before that, you know it, that last year In Sunnydale even if I tried to convince you and myself otherwise. And here it is, here you are, right in front of me and my bloody legs go.”

Buffy smiled. This version of Spike was every bit as appealing as the cocky version who used to irritate the hell out of her but also make her hotter than she had ever been willing to admit. His reticence was so adorable that it made her ache. Images of the look on his face when she had known that she’d said or done something to inflict real pain flashed in her mind and a stab of regret hit her like a knife to the gut. She immediately pushed it aside. She couldn’t, they couldn’t, go back and fix anything. All they could do is go forward. Holding her arms out to him she entreated softly,

“Please come here, Spike. I really need you to come here.”

That propelled him forward because of course it did. If _she_ needed, _he_ would provide. That’s the way it had always worked, right? Only now she was determined to get around to what _he_ needed but they’d never get that far if she couldn’t get him to cross the damn room. As soon as he was within reach, she pulled him into an embrace that would probably render a living human being unconscious, crushing him to her as she brought a hand up to cradle then stroke the back of his neck. He was trembling as he wrapped his arms tentatively around her and that made her hold on even tighter as she rocked them gently and murmured, “I missed you,” repeatedly against the deliciously soft skin between his ear and jawline.

“God help me, I never thought…” he whimpered.

Pressing her forehead to his she asserted, “ _You_ never thought? _I’m_ the one who watched _you_ burn, remember? But it doesn’t matter. That was _then_. We’re here _now_.”

And then she kissed him. Not the way she used to – demanding and angry only taking never giving – but slowly and affectionately to convey everything she used to deny him. Everything she had denied herself in the process. Acutely aware of Spike’s technical expertise, which had been glaringly apparent even when she had demanded sex without intimacy, Buffy was caught off guard by the intensity of the kiss. It felt like he was trying to propel his entire essence, his soul, into her. Instead of fighting it like she had in the old days she surrendered, drawing him in further. The answering rumble from deep in his chest vibrated through her. It felt better than maybe anything ever had. It was exquisitely arousing and maybe she would just spend the rest of her life kissing him except, damn, her stupid lungs and their stupid need to intake air. She pulled back to take a much-needed breath, gasping when he sank to his knees in front of her and pressed his face into the valley between her breasts. Where he remained, very still.

“Uh, Spike, what are you doing?”

“Dunno. Can’t decide what I… where to begin,” he muttered against her flesh and, holy shit, the sound and feel of him were torture.

Quirking an eyebrow, she remarked, “Well, you’re on the right track,” then reached behind her to unhook her bra.

He looked up at her, his beautiful eyes – the color of the North Atlantic she had realized the first time she had seen the North Atlantic when she thought he was gone forever – both adoring and dark with desire as she let the straps of her bra glide down her arms before tossing it aside.

“So bloody gorgeous,” he murmured between placing a sweet, almost-chaste-but-totally-not kiss to each nipple which was, somehow, the absolute sexiest thing he could have done.

“Uh-uh,” Buffy protested with a gentle palm to his forehead to stop him from going in again.

“Your turn,” she added, pointing at his shirt.

He obliged, yanking the long-sleeve thermal shirt he was wearing up and over his head then there he was, just as she remembered, had dreamt of so many times both in sleep and wide awake, like an alabaster statue of some ancient deity illuminated warmly in the light of the candles and fire. Only he wasn’t a statue, he was flesh and bone and muscle, as she was reminded when he pulled her to him and they rolled onto the obscenely soft blankets together, kissing like they were sipping from one another, tender and heated. His skin felt like heaven against hers and when she felt him, hard enough to hammer a nail, surge against her she hissed in sweet agony and he groaned in response. This would be more of a sprint than a marathon. Foreplay had started with spilling their guts to one another and that was nothing new. They had always been able to render each other bare and raw to the bone with words. Each knew the other’s buttons and precisely how hard to push to achieve the desired effect.

“Please, Buffy, need to be inside you,” he moaned and the desperation in his voice notched up her own.

“Need you inside me,” was her tortured reply.

She was throbbing with need. For him. Only him. In the rapidly retreating space available in her brain for logical thought she hoped that he understood this was all about _him_ , assuming he was any more capable of rational thought than she was. Two sets of shaking fingers attacked the button and zipper to his jeans at once, hindering rather than facilitating progress. Spike swore then took over on his own, rising slightly to get better access and then he was free. She reached for him, but he grabbed her wrist to intercept her.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Afraid I won’t be able to… been picturing my old Latin tutor the last two minutes as it is. Could’ve plaited the hair sprouting from his ears.” He shuddered. She giggled. He groaned.

“God, Buffy, any idea what it does to me to hear you laugh? Like music, it is,” he panted then growled, “Gotta have you now or swear I’ll dust.”

Then he was moving away from her to finish removing his jeans and, thank goodness, was right back with her and his long, elegant fingers – another attribute she had only come to fully appreciate in retrospect – were on the waistband of her panties and she lifted her pelvis to assist him as he slid them down her legs and off. Then she was reaching for him again, drawing him to her as she opened her legs to allow him to settle between them. This time he didn’t stop her when her hand joined his to guide him into her body then she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Just like the first time in that abandoned building, their eyes locked in mutual astonishment at how perfectly they fit. But that was where the similarities ended, as he sank deeper and deeper into her, slow and sweet, then pressed his forehead to hers and commenced rocking in a rhythm so familiar, so easy, that even though it had been years since the last time they had done this it felt like only yesterday. But it also felt brand new because she was fully there and allowing herself to feel it all, not just the physical sensation of being expertly fucked by her beautiful vampire but the emotional one of being adored, worshipped by him body and soul. They traded gasps, whimpers, tender pleas and the occasional expletive and when she knew he was close, he reached down to skillfully stroke her in the exact way she needed to come. Which she did making a sound that fell somewhere between a strangled cry and a laugh.

“Oh fuck, love!” he exclaimed as he followed, losing all muscle control as he collapsed onto her, panting unnecessarily because her weird and wonderful vampire had never been able to fully shake his humanity.

As soon as her brain regained the functional capacity to send signals to the muscles in her face, Buffy grinned then nuzzled into Spike’s shoulder and sighed contentedly. Krampusnacht was turning out to be way better than advertised.

* * * *

Buffy had been dozing when she sensed the loss of Spike’s touch and frowned. Blinking her eyes open they immediately settled on him leaning against the hearth, completely at ease with his nudity, his hair a tousled mess of curls she had secretly kind of adored since long before she would ever have been willing to admit it, his face beaming a sort of sleepy contentment. He was, in a word, gorgeous. She smiled.

“What are you doing all the way over there?” she asked.

“Got up to tend the fire then just got to watching you. Reckon you’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

Propping herself onto her elbows she stated wryly, “You’ve seen my _like this_ before.”

Shaking his head, he responded pointedly, “No, I haven’t.”

Blinking away from his gaze she murmured, “No, I guess not.”

Although, to be fair, neither had anyone else. This moment with Angel had been lost to the reappearance of Angelus, she had never felt anything approaching it with Riley, and no one else even warranted comparison.

“I’m happy,” she admitted then shrugged her shoulders and added, “So, now that I’ve said it out loud, expect a new hellmouth to open or a garden variety apocalypse any day now.”

“Still worth it seeing you like this, knowing I had something to do with it.”

“You have _everything_ to do with it. Ok, so the basket of treats gets honorable mention… and these blankets…”

She sank back into the blankets, closed her eyes and stretched, luxuriating in the decadent softness touching every inch of her sensitized, post-orgasmic body, then inquired,

“Where did you get them?”

“Ladies in town… sort of adopted me.”

Opening one eye at him she remarked, “I bet they did,” then closed it again and sighed.

“Feeling possessive, are we?” he teased then sank down on all fours and stalked, cat-like, over her body.

“No… maybe?” she responded with a playful smirk.

“Well then,” he purred with a dangerous gleam in his eye as he pulled aside the blanket covering her body.

“Need to find a way to reassure you, don’t I?”

Buffy watched through heavy eyelids as Spike kissed his way down her body, taking his sweet time with his lips, blunt teeth and tongue. He lingered on her breasts, sucking each nipple to a taught peak and it felt _so_ delightful that all she could do was surrender to the sensation and moan her appreciation, gasp his name. Then he moved down to her belly. Every so often he’d look up to meet her eyes and shoot her a sweetly lascivious smile that was so handsome it really wasn’t fair. When he had worked her into a panting, quivering mess he sat up on his haunches and parted her legs wide, considering her for a long moment, drawing it out sufficiently to make her flush with embarrassment.

“Your quim is so pretty when it’s swollen and soaking for me. Sight to behold, you are.”

“God, no it isn’t,” she mumbled, looking away from him.

“Gotta argue, don’t you? Buffy, look at me.” She obliged.

“Your body is a marvel, your passionate nature a gift. It’s what makes you the best slayer who’s ever lived. Should never be embarrassed about that. Tried to tell you that years ago. ‘Course, got it all wrong then.”

“Not _all_ ,” she confessed. “I… I mean, we _both_ screwed up, big time, but with… with you I figured out what I _wanted_ in bed instead of just taking whatever I got.”

He smiled and replied, “Well then, Miss Summers, do tell. What would you like me to do to you?”

“You know.”

“Do I? Oh, so I’m a mind reader now?”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy groaned, “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

“Yup,” he replied cheekily.

“I… I want you to… to eat my…” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Pussy,” she muttered then placed a hand over her face and shook her head.

In a voice laced with amusement and affection he commented, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before, even when I suspected you were using yours to try to kill me. Not that I gave a toss, mind you.”

“How long are you planning on yapping?”

“Ooh, bossy,” he crooned.

He stopped talking and proceeded to fuck her out of her mind with his mouth and fingers until she whispered his name then moaned his name then screamed his name. Until she was sweaty and boneless. Then he moved up beside her and pulled her to him, brushed aside the strands of wet hair clinging to her forehead and cooled her with tender kisses to it, her cheeks, chin, jaw and anywhere he could reach.

“You positively reek of me,” she observed with a sigh.

“I know,” he replied, and she could hear the self-satisfied smile in his voice.

She felt him shift to pull a blanket over them. Feeling warm, relaxed and blissfully sated, Buffy fell into a deep, dreamless sleep in Spike’s arms.

**TBC**


	4. Night and Day

Buffy awoke with a start, having no idea what time it was. The fire had died, and she could see daylight bleeding under the front door. Spike was still sleeping the sleep of the undead beside her. She really had to pee.

_Shit._

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

Giles was no doubt wondering where the hell she was, and her phone was in her coat pocket – probably dead since she couldn't for the life of her recall when she had last charged it. Even though it was the last thing in the world that she wanted to do, she really needed to get up, get dressed and get going. She gingerly slipped out from under the blankets and immediately regretted it. With the fire dead, it was damn chilly as she rooted around in semi-darkness for her underwear. Once she located them, she reached for the clothing she’d laid out to dry the night before then hopped up and tiptoed into the bathroom, where she would attempt to make herself presentable for the walk back to the car and drive home.

“Oh my God,” she muttered when she stepped in front of the mirror over the sink.

She couldn’t be more obvious if she scrawled _Walk of Shame_ across her forehead or wore a sign reading: _I Got Laid Last Night: Ask Me How!_ Her hair was the very definition of _bed head_ , her lips were swollen with kisses, and she could swear that her eyes were literally twinkling. An inventory of the rest of her – the parts she could see anyway – revealed that the marks he’d left on her body weren’t for public consumption, which was one small mercy, although two parallel pink marks on her calf puzzled her.

_What the hell?_

Then it dawned on her: the Krampuslauf; the birch switch; the swat intended for one of the local girls. Had that _really_ been just last night? It seemed distant, from another life, the way that recent memories do when something significant happens in between, the type of thing destined to define all the events surrounding it in relation to it: either before or after.

Finding what appeared to be a clean towel and wash cloth, no doubt courtesy of the _Bad Goisern Welcome Wagon for Hot Vampires_ , Buffy did a cursory wash of the funkiest areas, splashed water onto her face and rinsed out her mouth then dressed quickly. Digging into the fifth pocket of her jeans she produced the hair tie she’d hoped she’d find there and pulled her hair back into a low ponytail that would accommodate her winter hat. A fresh appraisal assured her that while she still wore the glassy-eyed look that Spike had a singular talent for putting on her face, she was now suitable for general audiences.

Buffy exited the bathroom to find Spike awake, in his jeans, crouching at the hearth to restart the fire. He had also turned on the overhead light illuminating the faint scratches on his perfectly muscled back. She bit her lip as she smiled, briefly reliving how they got there. He stood, turned to her and smiled back.

“Someone looks like that cat that swallowed the canary this morning,” he purred.

“Just admiring my handiwork on your back.”

Glancing over his shoulder he commented, “Pity they’ll be gone in a few hours. Would keep ‘em forever if I could, souvenir of the _new_ best night of my life.”

“You wouldn’t need a souvenir if… I mean….” He blinked at her expectantly.

_Speak words, Buffy! Just be honest! And don’t blow it!_

“Last night was wonderful.”

“Understatement of the eon, Summers.”

“Some might call it _a bloody revelation,_ ” she added knowingly.

“Yeah, something like it,” he replied with a wistful smile as he approached her, stopping when they were standing toe to toe.

“So, I was wondering, where we go from here?”

“Not gonna break into song, are you, Slayer?”

“Haha, a world of no. It’s just, we… we have a lot to talk about, but we skipped most of the talking last night.”

“As we do.”

“As we do.”

He pulled her into a kiss, slow and worshipful. She had to go _where_ again? And why? Oh yeah. Giles. The conference. The totally mind-numbing conference _there_ when she could spend the entire day _here_ cocooned in warm and comfy blankets in front of a fire. Naked. With Spike. Leaving was seeming like a lousier idea by the second until something occurred to her and she gently disengaged from the kiss.

Cupping his cheek, she explained, “I don’t want to go but… but I have to. I made a commitment and don’t want to make _you_ the excuse for bailing on my commitments. Not anymore. You deserve more. You’re so much more, you know that, right?”

He blinked away emotion on the verge of overcoming him and nodded.

“But,” she continued. “I want… I want to do this again, and… and more than this. If… if that’s what you want.”

“Off your bloody rocker? ‘Course it’s what I want.”

“What are your… how long are you planning to stay here?”

“Bit longer. Things tend to get a bit weird round here, as you’ve witnessed firsthand, this time of year between Krampusnacht and the Solstice. The townsfolk have been right gracious, so I want to keep an eye out for a couple more weeks but was planning to head home for the holidays.”

Buffy’s face fell as her heart sank and she stammered, “Oh… oh, y… you’re going back to L.A.”

Smiling indulgently, he responded, “ _My_ home, Buffy, place I was born and raised.”

“Oh!” She brightened. “I live there now!”

“Was aware,” he replied drolly.

“Dawn will be back for Christmas break. She’ll be so happy to see you.”

“Sure about that?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes, I am,” she insisted then turned in his arms to scan the room.

“Now that that’s settled, have you seen my socks?”

* * * *

Buffy burst into her hotel room, switching her mobile phone from ear to ear as she shrugged out of her jacket. She was kicking off her boots when the party on the other end finally picked up.

“Oh, thank God, Will! My phone’s almost dead and I need to shower and be downstairs in 15 minutes to catch Giles for lunch. But something happened last night, something _big,_ and I _really_ need to tell someone.”

Exactly 18 minutes later she nearly knocked Giles over in the doorway of the conference room where his morning seminar on demon possession had just concluded. He shot her a look over his glasses then inquired,

“I trust that you enjoyed yourself last night?”

_You don’t know the half of it._

Falling into step beside him as they headed towards the ballroom where a buffet lunch was set up for conference attendees, Buffy replied,

“It was a real eye-opener. By the way, Krampus says _hi_. And by Krampus, I mean the _real deal_ son of Hel, who also says _hi_ although in her native tongue it sounds more like _hey_.”

“Do y… you mean to say…?” Giles stammered, stopping in his tracks.

“C’mon, I’ll tell you all about it over lunch. I’m starving.”

As promised, she detailed her encounter with Jakob and his disappointed hell-goddess of a mother. With one Spike-sized omission, not because she was ashamed of or hiding it – she had wanted to tell _someone_ which is why she had called Willow after concluding on the drive back to Salzburg that she’d like to tell Dawn in person that Spike would be joining them for the holidays – but because she wanted to avoid the inevitable lecture until they were back in London.

“Extraordinary,” Giles commented over coffee and cookies.

“That’s one word for it. Anyway, by the time I got to the bottom of what was going on with that it had started to snow, so I decided to stay over.”

“As you were right to do,” he assured then paused a moment, considered, and asked, “Buffy, would you be willing to share this, and a few other, notable demon encounters at tonight’s banquet? I think the assembled company would find it both enlightening and entertaining.”

“What? No. I’m good at hitting things. You’re good at the talking.”

He smiled affectionately and responded, “Buffy, do you really think all these people are here to see an aging watcher? They are here for the highly intelligent, capable and resourceful young woman who cheated death, multiple times, and changed the world. They are here to see you, Buffy.”

She felt her cheeks warm and looked down at her plate then muttered, “I don’t know if I…”

“I will be there with you, ask questions as prompts, jump in if you get stuck.”

“What will I have to do?”

“Just be you, Buffy. I assure you, that’s more than enough.”

She met his eyes and smiled then reached across the table to squeeze his hand. Now all she had to do was figure out what to wear. Recalling streets lined with boutiques from a stroll through town the day they arrived, her smile widened. This was turning out to be the _best_ week.

* * * *

“That restaurant was _so_ cool,” Buffy remarked as she and Giles walked arm-in-arm back to the hotel.

“The St. Peter Stiftskulinarium is an extraordinary space.”

“I can’t believe I ate in a restaurant that Mozart ate in. Everything is so _old_ here or maybe it’s that everything is so _new_ in California. Well, most of the _manmade_ stuff anyway.”

“It was a lovely evening all around. And you did extraordinarily well, Buffy. While I do not feel entitled to take pride in your accomplishments, I am nevertheless very proud of you.”

She stopped, kissed him on the cheek and replied, “You’re entitled, Giles.”

“Oh, well,” he uttered with a diffident smile while looking down at his shoes.

“Could you _be_ _more_ English?” she teased with a chuckle.

“Perhaps not,” he replied with a shrug then added, “We should be getting back. Morning flight home tomorrow,” then took her arm again.

When they reached the hotel, Buffy felt a familiar tingle on the back of her neck which set off a hopeful quiver in her belly. She told herself that it was most likely a garden variety vampire but, if so, it still needed to be dealt with and she’d be saving the local slayers the task to say nothing of the lives the vampire might take in the meantime. She hung back as Giles headed for the entrance.

“Buffy?” he inquired, turning back to her.

”Vampire,” she mouthed nodding towards the alley next to the hotel.

He raised his eyebrows as if to ask _Need help?_ She shook her head and said, “Goodnight, Giles.”

“Goodnight, Buffy,” he replied then whispered, “do take care,” as he leaned in to kiss her on the forehead.

She watched as he entered the building then turned and strode determinedly towards the alley which was, helpfully, reasonably well lit. Cautiously entering with all her senses on high alert she called out,

“Come out, come out, wherever you are! I’ve never met an Austrian vampire, this should be a treat!”

“Sorry, love, not Austrian but heard rumor of a German ancestor on my Mum’s side.”

_YES!!!!!_

Buffy grinned ear to ear as Spike emerged from the shadows. He looked her up and down in that way he did that made her feel completely naked, which used to really piss her off but was now having an entirely different effect _._

“You look good enough to eat, Slayer.”

“Thought you needed to protect the village from nasties,” she stated with feigned nonchalance.

“Think they’ll manage without me for one night,” he replied with a shrug as he approached with his usual swagger but then his eyes turned soft, his expression worshipful, and he reached up as if to touch her face but hesitated and remarked,

“My God, Buffy, look at you. You… you’ve flowered into this… this _woman.”_

He said the word with such reverence that it made her knees tremble. In the strictly legal sense, she had been a woman for years having turned 22 the last year in Sunnydale, but between apocalypses and deaths (including her own) she had never found the time to figure out who she really was, or even wanted to be. That’s what she had been trying to tell Angel with her stupid cookies analogy when he’d shown up with the amulet. Thinking back on it later, she had wondered if he’d missed the point. For a while, anyway, until the day that she realized that she no longer cared. But Spike understood. He could see that she was _different,_ that she hadn’t just grown a couple years older but had also _grown up_.

“Sort of ended up the star of the show tonight so I decided to go shopping this afternoon,” she explained as she gestured at her attire.

“Don’t know where you’ve been, Slayer, but you’ve _always_ been the star of the show,” he asserted.

Buffy rolled her eyes and replied, “How long have you been working on _that_ line?”

Shooting a look back at her Spike began, “Always gotta have the last wo…”

She cut him off with a kiss and soon found herself pinned against the exterior wall of the hotel with Spike pressed up against her, hard and insistent. His right hand was splayed on the brick to protect the back of her head, leaving his left hand to roam, snaking into her coat and up under her skirt, sliding up her leg until he reached the top of a black opaque thigh-high stocking.

‘Stockings, you minx. I swear, you’re trying to kill me,” he panted into her ear.

She smiled and whispered back, “Can we go inside where it’s warmer?”

“Feels plenty warm to me.”

His hand skittered to where she was particularly warm, and wet, and she whimpered, her freshly-manicured nails digging into the leather of his coat. God, she wanted him, but she really did prefer that it not be here. She wanted him where they would be alone and away from prying eyes, safe and free to explore one another.

“Spike, please,” she gasped as he plundered her neck with his lips, tongue and blunt teeth.

“Hmm…?” he hummed against a particularly sensitive spot on her neck.

_Not helping!_

“Want you where you belong… in my bed.”

That got his attention. He pulled back with the look of wonder in his eyes he’d been wearing for the last 24 hours then grabbed her hand and began pulling her further into the alley.

“Where are we… I thought…” she protested.

“Don’t fancy running into Rupert or anyone else you know in the lobby, do you?”

He had a point. She didn’t.

“No, but not because I... I’m ashamed or anything. I just want to tell people on my own timetable. I’ve already told Willow.”

“Have you now? And what did Red have to say about it?”

“That I sounded happy and that she’s happy for me because she knows how much I’ve missed you, and that she’s happy for you too because with everything you’ve become you deserve it.”

“Yeah, well she was never the main obstacle, was she? Your watcher and Harris will be a different kettle of fish.”

They spotted a back entrance and Spike made quick work of the lock. Hand-in-hand they wandered through darkened back hallways in near-silence until they came to a set of fire stairs and all but sprinted up the five flights to Buffy’s floor. Poking her head in from stairwell to check that the hallway was empty, Buffy already had her room key out then tugged Spike behind her to her room, literally shoving him inside when she opened the door. Just then she heard the elevator door open with a ding followed by the sound of Giles’s voice as he bid good evening to another passenger. Pulling the door to her room closed she turned to see Giles rounding the corner.

“Glad I caught you. A few of the lads saw me walking by and invited me to the bar for a nightcap then I tried calling you to make sure everything went alright with the situation in the alley. When you didn’t pick up, I decided to pop up and check on you before I head to my room.”

“All good here!” she chirped as she dug through her pockets then added, “But I think I left my phone on the charger when I left for dinner. Sorry to have worried you.”

“You’re just getting back to your room? I hope the vampire you encountered didn’t give you too much trouble.”

“Nah,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“He was a regular pushover.”

“Ah, very well, meet in the lobby at 8:30 then?”

“Yup, see you then.”

“And so, I bid you goodnight again,” Giles offered with a nod then turned to head back towards the elevators.

“Goodnight, Giles!” she called after him.

Buffy slipped into her room, closed and locked the door behind her then leaned back against it and listened for the second of two dings signaling that the elevator door had closed before exhaling in relief.

“Pushover, Slayer?”

She shrugged, shooting him a playful smile, and he was across the room with vampiric speed. The urgent need in the alley ratcheted up to desperate as they struggled to divest one another of clothing without breaking contact. Eventually they gave up on removing anything but the essentials then Spike hauled Buffy up and she locked her legs around his waist. They fucked hard and fast against the door to Buffy’s room, moans and whispered pleas dying on each other’s lips, ultimately collapsing in a tangled heap on the floor.

After a few minutes of blissed-out silence, Buffy followed Spike’s gaze as he turned his head to look at the neatly-made bed then back at her, eyebrow raised. She shrugged. He looked up at the ceiling and observed,

“Least the building’s still standing.”

She kissed the tip of his nose and traced the contour of his ear with her fingertip. He cupped and squeezed her buttocks. Eventually, she pulled off the shirt dangling from his right arm and he helped her out of the brand-new dress now forming a crumpled ring around her torso. She pulled off his boots and pulled his jeans the rest of the way off his body. He removed her knee-length boots, leaving her only in her thigh-high stockings and bra then sat back to appraise her, a sly smile forming on his lips.

“You’re a bloody goddess, know that? Remind me of nudes I saw in Paris round the turn of the century. As in the _last_ century. So lovely.”

“You like me in just my bra and stockings?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Then I’ll keep them on while I suck your beautiful cock, but you have to promise to keep your eyes open and watch me,” she stated solemnly as she reached out to stroke him. He emitted a strangled laugh.

“What?” she inquired.

“Well, first, yes please and thank you. Second, you’re really getting the knack of dirty talk.”

“I have the _best_ tutor,” she purred as she shoved him onto his back, crawled between his knees and proceeded to hold up her end of the bargain. He held up his as well. They made it to the bed eventually.

* * * *

Buffy actually beat Giles to the lobby and stifled a smirk at his obvious surprise upon seeing her there when he came off the elevator. At her insistence, Spike had left at 5:00 to give him plenty of leeway to get back to Bad Goisern before the sun rose a little before 8:00. She could have slept for a couple hours before getting up to shower and pack but, even though she had gotten very little in the way of sleep, she couldn’t. She was excited, giddy, her stomach in knots. Which color her surprised because it was _Spike_ and you’d think that after everything they had been through, they’d be long past the euphoria of infatuation but apparently not. Which was pretty freakin’ awesome.

“Good morning, Buffy. You’re looking… radiant, actually. You must have gotten a good night’s rest.”

_Uh, not so much._

“I have something to tell you,” she blurted before she even realized what she was saying.

“You can tell me on our way to the airport. I trust that you still have the car keys? Would you prefer to drive, or shall I?”

“Yeah, I have them. I’ll drive!” she replied cheerfully, practically bouncing through the lobby as she pulled her bag behind her.

When they got to the parking garage she confessed, “I left something out when I told you about Krampusnacht, something personal.”

“I had a suspicion but as it is, as you say, personal, I didn’t want to pry.”

“So, you guessed.”

“I suspected that you may have met a young man, which I think is wonderful.”

As they turned down the aisle where they were parked, she replied, “Well I wouldn’t call him _young_ exactly, but I wouldn’t call him _old_ either.”

“Ah, well, shall we be having an opportunity to meet this what, _middle-aged,_ chap some time?”

“No need, you already know him. Pretty well, in fact. For a few very confusing hours, he was even like a son to you once.”

Giles had been a step or two behind her and she heard the wheels of his bag come to an abrupt halt. Buffy winced, bracing herself. For the sound of his glasses coming off and being vigorously polished. For the heavy sigh of disapproval. For the lecture. Maybe even yelling. She slowly turned, opening one eye at him.

His expression was even. No furrowed brow. No pursed lips. His glasses were still on his face as he blinked through them at her.

“There’s _not_ going to be an argument about this?” she asked, incredulous.

“No, you’re an adult and he’s… you’re an adult.”

“Oh, thank God,” she declared, visibly sagging with relief.

“Among my rather considerable list of regrets from my years as your watcher is not trusting your judgment that last year in Sunnydale about something that clearly meant a great deal to you and, ultimately, to the whole world as it turned out. I am also sorry that my behavior then made you afraid of my reaction now, particularly as it is so wonderful to see the light in your eyes, Buffy.”

“Thank you, Giles.”

“But he should know that if he ever hurts you again, I still have my crossbow.”

“Duly noted,” she responded with a smirk before turning around again.

When they reached the car, Giles inquired, “Am I correct in assuming that the vampire in the alley last night was Spike?”

“Yes,” she muttered with an embarrassed smile.

“He’s not in the boot of the car, is he?”

Buffy laughed then pressed the key fob to open the empty trunk and responded, “He went back to Bad Goisern early this morning, but he is coming to London for Christmas and I hope he’ll stay.”

“So, I guess I’ll be locking up the silver for Christmas Dinner,” Giles remarked as they each moved around the vehicle after stowing their bags in the trunk.

“Very funny, but you might want to lock up the good scotch.”

They enjoyed a companionable silence as they buckled themselves in, she started the car, pulled out of the parking spot and made their way out of the garage. When the traffic light at the exit turned green, Buffy advised, “Hold on, Rupert. Buffy’s putting the hammer down!” then peeled out onto the street.

“Oh, for the love of…” he yelped.

She grinned mischievously all the way to the airport.

**TBC**


	5. Merry and Bright

**London**

**December 23rd**

Buffy paced, stopped to glance up at the wall clock, then resumed pacing. Dawn had pointedly declared her intention to be out until the shops closed even though Buffy knew for a fact that she had already finished most of her shopping. Of course, she knew what her sister was up to; she wanted to give them time alone for their reunion after three weeks apart. What was she expecting them to do that required her to skedaddle for the entire evening? Ok, stupid question, but…

She was a more than a little nervous about welcoming Spike into her home and would have preferred Dawn there as a buffer. Despite the fact that they had spoken every night – right before Buffy went to sleep no matter what time – since he had slipped out of her hotel room in Salzburg the morning she had returned to London, what happened in Austria had taken on a dreamlike quality leaving her to wonder if it would feel the same here, in the two-bedroom flat in Wandsworth she shared with her sister when Dawn was in town on breaks from university. Here was where real life happened. Would he fit into it? Would he even want to?

They had a lot to talk about since most of their time together in Austria had been spent _not talking._ Their nightly conversations since had mostly been about the minutiae of the time in between and usually ended with Spike initiating phone sex. Which was something that Buffy had never thought she would enjoy but wrong again. It didn’t hurt that he had maybe the sexiest voice in the history of voices. But what about the _important_ stuff? They had to get to that sooner or later. Maybe they should just take advantage of the quiet time alone this evening to discuss where they stood. Was he planning to return to L.A. right after the holidays to resume the undead Starsky and Hutch routine with Angel? Would he be willing to stay on in London?

Buffy had been so preoccupied that the buzzer startled her. The butterflies were taking flight again as she rushed to the intercom.

“Yes?” she inquired, hoping her voice didn’t betray the nerves she felt.

“Slayer,” he responded in a playfully menacing tone.

“Yeah?” she shot back in mock defiance.

“Big Bad here.”

“I’ll believe _that_ when I see it.”

She buzzed him in then actually bounced on the balls of her feet in anticipation as she waited for the knock on the door to the flat. Checking her reflection in the hallway mirror, she took a deep breath and answered the door. Then stood speechless and blinking.

Spike’s hair was in its naturally curly state and he clearly hadn’t touched up the bleach since she’d last seen him because he had heavy dark roots that she’d last seen when he was deep in the throes of post-ensoulment torment at the hands of the First. In place of his duster was a sable-colored p-coat open to reveal a nicely tailored shirt neatly tucked into new jeans and a pair of brown boots. The only concession to Spike-style were a few delicate silver rings on his fingers and a silver bracelet on his left wrist.

“Planning to invite me in, Summers, or visiting here all evening?”

“Oh, jeez, yes, please come in, Spike.”

She stepped aside to allow him to enter then closed the door behind him and turned to find him eyeing her amusedly,

“Everything alright, pet?”

“Y… you just look…” She swept her hand through the air to indicate his head-to-toe metamorphosis.

Quirking an eyebrow, he asked, “And? Don’t approve?”

“No, I mean yes, I mean I don’t _not_ approve. You look gorgeous which I’m pretty sure you already know but I was just wondering why… I mean if… if you think that I would want…”

He raised a hand to silence her and advised, “Might go quicker if you let me. You’re afraid that this is another pathetic attempt on my part to fashion myself into the image of what I think you want.”

She blinked once then replied, “Yeah.”

“Nope. Just wanted to soften up a bit for the holidays, is all. Dunno, maybe spending time on William’s patch is making me want to let a little more of him out.”

“Does that mean you’ll be reciting poetry for us?”

“ _No one_ wants _that much_ William, love, trust me. Besides,” he added with a sniff, “S’all window dressing anyway. Underneath’s what counts. Isn’t it, pet?” He winked and, like Pavlov’s dog, her mind immediately went to what was under his new clothes.

_Talk! We need to talk!_

Looking around he observed, “Nice place.”

“Yeah, it’s comfortable. The Council pays me now so I can just about afford comfortable.”

“Where’s the Little Bit?”

“Out shopping. She’ll be back later.”

“Again?”

“She likes Christmas here, says it feels more Christmas-y than it did in Sunnydale, whatever that means.”

“The absence of a gaping portal to hell _will_ lend a festive air. Nasties aplenty in this town, though. Ought to know – used to be one of ‘em,” he commented with a cheeky grin that further melted Buffy’s resolve about the need to talk.

“Let me take your coat,” she suggested. He shrugged out of and handed it to her. She ran her hands over the soft wool before hanging it on one of the hooks by the door.

“Can I offer you anything?” she asked as she led him into the living area.

“Hmm, what do ya have in mind, pet?” he crooned, and she could hear the irritatingly sexy smirk in his voice.

_Walked right into that one, didn’t I?_

“Since you asked, wouldn’t say no to a kiss hello, Buffy,” he added with complete sincerity.

She sighed and turned to him, her shoulders slumping, then lamented, “Could I be more awkward?”

“Probably not but it’s right cute,” he responded with a sweet smile then opened his arms to her.

Buffy stepped into his embrace, exhaling with relief as he closed his arms around her. Anxiety abated as she felt a surge of warmth spread throughout her body, calming her racing mind. Nuzzling him like a cat, she whispered,

“Let me start again. Welcome to my home, Spike.”

“Hello, love,” he replied softly then engaged her in a thousand-year-long kiss.

* * * *

Buffy’s resolve to have a real conversation had evaporated the moment they touched. Two hours later they lay, relaxed and sated, on her rumpled bed, she on her belly and he on his side facing her with his head propped on his elbow.

“Reckon the shops closing in an hour or so, pet,” Spike advised as he ghosted her spine with his fingertips.

“Hmm?” she responded as she opened her eyes and cast him a sleepy, lopsided smile.

“Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” he confided.

“What?”

“ _You_ … looking _at me… like that_ after a brilliant shag.”

“Will you get a chance to?”

He blinked at her then remarked, “Why, know something I don’t?”

Buffy turned over onto her back and sighed then stated, “I don’t have a crystal ball, Spike. I have no idea what your plans are.”

“Plans? You kidding me? Gave up on those ages ago, as you should know since you mucking them up on the regular was the reason. Never stuck to ‘em anyways.”

“Yeah, I know. You got bored,” she recalled as she stared at the ceiling.

She could feel his eyes on her, reading her, then,

“I’m not going anywhere, Buffy, not unless you want me to. How could I? If you remember correctly, I got _bored_ waiting to see _you_ again.”

“I _am_ remembering correctly, and you got bored waiting to _kill_ me.”

“S’what I thought at the time. Know better now. Often infuriating, you are. Always bloody gorgeous. _Never_ boring.”

“What about your life in L.A.?”

“What I had in L.A., realize now, wasn’t _life_. Was just passing time. Some of it was alright and… well, was good to get my legs under me around someone who _understands_ , you know? But nothing compares to you, Buffy. Never has. Never will.”

“So, you’ll stay?”

“You asking?”

She turned onto her side to face him, smiled and replied, “Yes, I’m asking,” then flopped onto her back again and added, “I… I don’t know how this is all going to work. I’ve never been very good at relationships.”

“Bollocks. You’re brilliant at relationships. Your relationships changed the bloody world. Whether it was your Mum braining the evil sod trying to hurt her beautiful little girl or the witch activating every potential slayer in the world while her best mate was in the fight of her life, you are at the heart of it all, Buffy. Told you before but I’ll say it again. It’s always been you.”

She turned her head to look him in the eye and said, “I love you, Spike.”

“Know what, think I might love you too, Buffy Summers,” he replied with a sweet smile then leaned over to kiss her.

* * * *

They were dressed, in the kitchen, Spike seated at the counter and Buffy gathering snacks and the makings of hot cocoa. She could feel his eyes on her, tracking her every move like a cat tracks a mouse. It made her feel warm, her skin tingle. Nature had made them both predator and prey to one another. Circumstances had made them something else, something more. She and Angel had tried to deny and defy that component to their connection. What they shared had been _in spite of_ not _because of_ his being a vampire and her the Slayer. While Spike had always embraced their connection as natural enemies no matter how appalled or infuriated it made her. She was younger then, saw things in stark contrast. Now that she was better acquainted with the gray areas she understood. He loved how well-matched they were, had loved her as an adversary before he loved her as a woman. At the core of his feelings for her, she had only realized later when she thought he was lost to her forever, was respect.

“You love that I can kick your ass,” she blurted.

Blinking at her, he inquired, “What’s going on in that lovely head of yours, woman?”

“Some time… I… I’d like to _be_ with the demon. But after Dawn goes back to school. And maybe not here. I’d rather not have to explain the property damage to my landlord or have the neighbors call the cops on us. Maybe we can find an abandoned airport hangar or cave or something.”

With a look on his face that could best be described as a kid on Christmas Morning who’d gotten everything he’d ever asked for, Spike commented wryly,

“That’s it, I’ve dusted and gone to Hell. Know I’m going to wake up any minute, hot poker up my bum, to find this was all just a cruel dream.”

“Hot poker up your…” Buffy muttered, shaking her head at him.

Her phone rang. Flipping it open and bringing it to her ear she chirped,

“Hey, Dawn, where are you?”

“We’re in the _kitchen_ , getting ready to have snacks and cocoa… and, yes, _we have clothes on_.”

She rolled her eyes. He smirked. She sighed then handed the phone over to him.

“Hey, Nibblet, better hurry before I drink up all the chocolate.”

“No, but I’m staying nearby.”

“That’s up to your sister.”

“Wants to know if I would stay over tomorrow night so I can be here Christmas Morning,” he conveyed.

“Schemer,” Buffy remarked with a smile then added, “Yes.”

“Sis says it’s ok… What’s that? Yeah, I know, born and raised here, remember?”

“What?” Buffy inquired warily.

“Reminded me that Boxing Day is a holiday here too and said I should stay ‘til then.”

“Oh my God, just tell her to get her ass home.”

“Your sister is waiting impatiently for you to come home. See you soon, Bit.”

Flipping the phone closed, he handed it back to her and commented, “Well, looks like Snack Size is on board.”

“Jeez, ya think?” she shot back as he reached into the cupboard for mugs then turned and set three down on the counter.

Picking one up he inspected it and read aloud, “Heidelberg.”

“Ever been?” she inquired.

“Yeah, but not at Christmas.”

“The market is incredible even if it was an evening of fails.”

“Do tell, Slayer.”

“Well, first, for part of the season there is a second market at the castle which you probably remember is at the top of a hill, a _steep_ one. Only we didn’t realize there was one of those mountain elevator-train gizmos…”

“Funicular.”

“Yeah, that thing. We didn’t realize there was one until _after_ we’d climbed the thousand or so stairs up, Dawn whining the _entire_ way. But it was cool, and we ate dinner at a restaurant at the castle and got our shopping on. The second fail was on the way out – we were staying in Frankfurt – but that was _totally_ Dawn’s fault even though she’ll tell you it was mine because I was driving.”

“Knowing full well what Summers women are capable of, do I even want to know?”

“We… sort of… drove down a staircase. But she told me to take the next right and even though it looked like an alley so do a lot of legit streets in Europe!” Buffy explained.

“A bloody menace, the lot of you,” Spike teased then lifted another mug and read it.

“Strasbourg. Tell me about that one.”

“Oh my God, it goes on _forever_ and the decorations are _so_ pretty…”

**FIN**


End file.
